The Blue Nozzle Curse's Journal

11:51am: Once Every 6 months.
Uttering the word 'change' is a jack and jill shit eating tumble into the inevitable partaking of snotty sleeved saturday night movie bingeing and the house frau latchhooking of deer of the northwest nature inspired throw pillows.
A lonely living room lovescene.
Love to love to loathe, because I don't have my ducks in a row.
And this, without fail, will lead to an even deeper realization of the time lost and a new an unnatural attachment to casino inspired native american americano.
And who needs that?
Lean cuisine derived love handles and a dream catcher with no sugary delicious dreams to catch?
I need an animal spirit, like I need a HOLE TO THE HEAD.

Just stop with this hibernation.
I can't even pick a good fight anymore.

Even the wintery eyed bear will wake up occasionally to dump on people.

1:41pm: Remove to Expose the Jack
have you ever been in a “trapped in a poorly made low budget artsy-just-for-the-sake-of-being-artsy film not movie but film” situation?
going through the motion of a usual mundane existence, when all a sudden one day, for no apparent reason really, everything starts to unravel like it should be set to a pulsing nonsensical but oh so hip swedish techo soundtrack?
that’s the only way i can describe it really. a day can be so boring that your body decides not to let you know just how intensely boring the day actually is for fear that if you ever found out just how goddamn boring that particular day truly is, you just may have to do something self destructive. you know, like sticking your hand in the paninni grill just to say something wild and whacky happened that day. anything to make that day worth remembering.
days like these are truly rare.
days like these allow you to catch and hone in on all the things that are probably going on all the time but are overshadowed by the every day stuff. you know, throwing tantrums about the notion of having to go to work, agonizing over why so and so hasn’t called, wondering how long your skirt has been tucked into your underoos, deliberating on whether to have a sobbing snotty pity party or to just skip it and instead continue to force your emotions down with lifetime movies and pizza pockets. you know, the little things.

in the time it took me to go to work, make some people some sandwiches, and come back home i witnessed the following things:

1. a blind man shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun in order to watch for cars before crossing the street.
2. a man crossing the street, completely content, a newspaper folded under one arm a cup of coffee in the other wearing only AND I MEAN ONLY LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, a flannel button up shirt.
3. a woman walking down a busy main stretch of salem walking a himalayan cat on a leash.
4. a golden retriever patiently standing on a skateboard in the middle of the circle k parking lot.
5. at the first stop light on the bottom of a hill, a vacant motorized wheel chair and at the second stop light, at the top of the hill an old man lying face first on the sidewalk.
6. in unison, driving perfectly next to each other in the two opposing lanes of traffic, same make and model mind you: two white mini vans, two black suv’s, two blue cadillacs, and two red trucks.

anyhow, i guess today was pretty alright.

12:01pm: I said a Happy Co-lum-bus Day!
So while in beautiful downtown Salem today, I found myself on a flawed from the start mission to find a bank to deposit a muchly needed check.
After trying to pull open the very locked doors of three different Wells Fargo branch locations, I realized that today, is in fact, Columbus Day.
And the banks, with out fail, are closed on Columbus Day.
I can’t get money because the bankers are all at home kneeled in front of their lavished shrines dedicated to fifteenth century Italian explorers, mindlessly worshipping the fact that Christopher Columbus fucked up and found this blessed country on his way to find a new chicken marsala recipe and bulk packs of nagchampa to burn in his dorm room.
So Happy Columbus Day everybody.
Celebrate.
Eat some spaghetti.
Go out and buy yourself a new dutch boy hairdo in commemoration.
Kick a blown up globe around the 'ole soccer field exclaiming in your best fancypants voice: "I told you so! I told you so!"

11:42am: "Notice of Privacy Practices"
I’m thinking this next year I’ll do everything the same again, as planned, but maybe with a few less fingers. I really think that’s where I was going wrong. Too many digits get in the way, right? Or maybe I’ll just start wearing headbands. Something, anything, that might cause a slight shift in god’s wickedly redundant plan for me. Maybe if I eat more fiber next year, I’ll finally grow that unicorn horn I’ve been wanting. That way, I'd at least be able to impale my adversaries while still being majestic and glittery.

6:22pm: A Tad More Mooshiness
Things I Love on the First Day of September:

1. Ass shaking dance parties
2. Heather tattoos
3. Bourbon
4. Slow dancing with my Derby kat
4. Hanging out with Heather
5. Showers
6. Blackberry milkshakes
7. Sick days
8. Dirty T-shirts
9. Ants on my kitchen floor
10. A slightly paranoid, extremely charming, certain somebody.

Lists = Good, healthy fun.

6:13pm: A GushyMooshyButteryBetter Jade
Windows tilted, air and sweet smoke pours in.
Pavement swirls underneath, sunset above with a flock of Hallmark Moment canadian geese flying in perfect V formation.
A mustard house, a second rate education, a warm body await me in the horizon.
Everything in it's right place in the speakers and in my head.

MooshyGooeyLuvLuvEtc.

6:42pm: Child Care Trauma: Take Two.
One child safely tucked away in a sleepy naptime state.
The other quietly watching Fred Savage voice a curious oxygen breathing animated octopus.
Finally, oh finally, Jade gets to answer nature's everso demanding call.
Mad dash to the restroom. Finishes her business. Hasty attempt at lilac scented soap.
(Nothing bad could possibly come from leaving a three year old boy unattended for a mere minute or two?)
Flings open door and flies back to the living room.
She spies that f-ing effeminate mollusk, but where is the child?
Back door wiiiiiide open...
There he was. In the backyard.
Naked as a jaybird.
Standing in four inches of Scooby-Doo pool water.
"Discovering" himself.

I'm not really sure who was more embarrassed by her having to interrupt.

9:16pm: Digital Clocks and other Distractions.
I can’t hear it tick.
I try not to look,
but my eyes skim past it every half after until I just fall asleep.
It’s my fault for seeking out impossible situations.
But it’s just too obvious otherwise.

11:42pm: Mad. Mad with power.
Babysitting.
He's right at that age where he can't talk or walk so I figured it would be easy.
He'd stick toy trucks in his mouth I would get some much needed reading/doodling/pouting/savebythebellwatching out of the way.
Oh no no no no.
He's right at that tender age where every button or drawer, when properly worked, unlocks the key to an unbridled amount of joy and magic.
Every blunt object should fit nicely in your mouth.
That age where you can't quite lift your sippy cup but your able to pull coffee tables, lamps, and small automobiles on top of yourself.
And pretending to choke on peaches and playing with your bits while getting your diaper changed is hyssssssterical.

At the exact moment I almost lost it, I turned my back to retrieve a fresh pair of britches, he pulls himself up and turns on the radio full blast, right in the middle of the chorus to Amy Grant's "Every Heart Beat" and begins to shake his little 10 month year old booty like there's no tomorrow.

So that's why humans don't eat their young.

12:05am: Cake and tequila for a week.
Sundays are for newspaper reading, mild pant hanging, and rambling thought lists:

I'm melting.
My birthday was an arbormistdrinking, lavenderpantyshakin, landlordlicking, bathroomrondevouing, plasterdogurinatingly good time.
That milk was definitely spoiled.
Philippines is spelled with a 'p' while Filipino is spelled with a 'f'and dammit, I want to know why.
Ass plus vinyl chair equals risky business.
Golden Girls in syndication and a tube of vanilla frosting, even riskier.
The people in the apartment behind me (Apt.23) are freestyle rapping and I believe I'm having an eight mile moment.
Being eerily content with my lack of content.

Oh my internal excursions...

9:27pm: tomcruiserevealhispainfulbattlewithilliteracy
My apartment smells like dead bunny.
I blame it on the four day old pot of uneaten broccoli.
Or the bloody bunny carcass behind the fridge.
I wonder how many times I will slam my hand in the same car door before I figure out that it hurts?
And an f-ing Pinto at that.
But who am I kidding. Everybody loves a good Pinto.
I watched a French documentary about gleaners last night.
It made me jealous.
I want to be simple like that.
And I want to dig through garbage cans and wear rubber boots just because I can.
I’ll be twenty in a few dozen hours.
It doesn’t mean much because everyone I know has experienced that forlackofabetterword ‘milestone’ some time ago.
Instead it makes me want to evaluate every current situation occurring in my life.
It makes me want to change things, it makes me want to try harder to keep some things the same.
I wonder if I’ll ever be content again.
I know a few things I want right now but they’re nothing of great importance, nothing that in the scheme of things will better me, direct me in the direction of accomplishing some sort of goal.
But now, as I think about things, maybe that’s not what counts.
Maybe I don’t have to have to driving force in me.
I mean, if it’s not there, it’s just not there.
Though it’s a hard notion to let go of. It’s what I’ve been taught.
Something must be wrong if it’s not there. You must be lazy/unmotivated/uninspired/uneducated/dead.
Maybe that’ll just have to be okay for now.
Something needs to be okay.

11:11am: Why can't he ever be exhausted?
So, the air conditioning broke at work. People walked around all day attempting to make light of the situation. It wasn't funny. Folding wool sweaters in 88 degrees? Not funny. They put a fan in the dressing room area which was helping until a 300 pound woman decided to stand in front of it because she was hot and decided that she was somehow more deserving of the precious recycled lukewarm air.

Watching live theater makes me antsy.

The reason I went was definitely the best part of the show.
He was fabulous.
I knew he would be.

10:22am: Mad with Victory
I'm playing a game of cat and mouse.
A very familiar game.
A very annoying game.
The cat is always pissing on things and the mouse should really be controlling the urge to skin the cat.

Way to sexually warp a cliche, Jade.

10:08am: Zoo Story
I saw sun bears and mirkats and zebras and lemurs and chirpy birds and elephants and NAKED MOLE RATS!!! and penguins and crocodiles and sea otters and polar bears and fringed vest wearing monkeys and african pygmy goats and a giraffe and cranes and tigers and rhinos and hippos oh my!
I enjoy the zoo.
I go lots of stamps.
And flirted my pants off.
I think it was the heat and the intoxicating aroma of the warm elephant cages.
I enjoyed the zoo.

12:15pm: RIP Little Weed Bush...
This morning I awoke to burly men beating down my patio fence with large hammers, sledge in nature. After they had knocked the entire fence down, I heard a rustling at the front door. I opened the door and a note had been pinned to it.
"Just a note giving you advanced notice, that we will be replacing the fences the morning of May 19th, so you might want to remove any personal items that might hinder this project."
Advanced notice???
This is like the time they came for an inspection and I asked where my twenty-four hour notice was and the lady screamed "hey, look over there!" And as my head whipped around and she tossed a letter under my stairs.
Oh, and in the process of knocking down the fence they ripped up our five and a half foot dandelions that we lovingly referred to as our "weed bush."
As they ripped it up I ran out and screamed "Nooooooo, not my precious weed bush!"
One of the men laughed and began chopping up its delicate thorned stalks...

1:37am: He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry.
What does it mean when you spend one hour and fifty-seven minutes downloading pictures of pineapples?
And for another good thirteen minutes obsessively print them out?
And why do all the good ones get away? Or turn bad and runaway?

move away. go ahead. they all do.

Now with out thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.

11:34am: B is for Bourbon, that made me lose my head.
I've found that the truly important things never really come out...
After a long evening of insults and bodily injuries I found myself enthralled in the same conversation that had been so hastily created two months earlier.
Once again I found myself sitting awkwardly on the floor, heart dangling carelessly off my sleeve, words coming out far too quickly.
And in return, I received the same sighs and the same bouts of silence.
What does it take with some people?
How can you care so much and not even casually enter the other person's mind?
How can you learn and share so much with someone and then one day find absolutely no worth in it?
It really terrifies me. It makes me realize that I'm doing things all wrong, that I've always been doing things all wrong.
It makes me question every relationship, every interaction.
I'm throwing my phone away now.

1:53pm: Tired, But oh-so Looking Forward To Change
So, he's all moved out.
My phone is filled with messages demanding money.
Being broke will do funny things to a person.
They're able to recall moments you bumped a cigarette, or stole a quarter from the kitchen counter, or used salt from the non-designated shaker.
His room is completely empty with the exception of a grenade replica, pin pulled mind you, that sits on the top shelf in the closet.

I've yet to determine if he just forgot it or if it's his calling card.

1:06pm: Why I've Never Enjoyed Hot Tamales.
I think this will go down as the longest week in the history of... well... FOREVER.
To speak of the unspeakable horrors that occurred will have to remain unspeakable.
Just know that I'm quite happy that this week has finally chosen to come to a close.
I will, however, illuminate on saturday night. It was another one of those, "How on earth did i find myself here?" situations.
Somehow I was talked into going to a latin dance club inconspicuously named Fernando's.
After getting past the doorman we made our way up stairs to where the "action" was. The temperature quickly jumped up a good thirty degrees, Latin techo shook the stairs, smoke billowed off of the rafters, the stench of Corona with lime and Elizabeth Taylor's 'White Diamonds,' choked my sinuses.
Then I saw them.
They were everywhere.
VICTIMS OF MID-LIFE CRISIS.
Short, fat, balding, undersexed, water bra lovers, nude support panty hose, love handles pushing through halter top straps-- it reminded me of an alcohol induced company christmas party gone horribly horribly wrong.
"So this is what hell looks like," I told myself.
I quickly found a dark outodtheway corner and proceeded to down tecate and chain smoke.
After my good judgment became inhibited Kate convinced me to dance. But after a solid two minutes of some middle aged man attacking the side of my thigh with the "fiesta of fun" he kept tucked away in his dockers, i bowed out for the evening.
At least I'm slowly learning what scenes I'm not cut out for.

9:42am: The Art of Keeping My Mouth To Myself... literally...
A noteworthy weekend, yes I suppose. We'll just file this one under Jade's most non-shining moments. And just for the record, fuck cupid and his stupid little cupid receding hairline. (Combing those golden curly locks forward isn't fooling anyone you little bastard).
I kind of don't want to leave.
But then again, the splendor that awaits me is almost too good to pass up.
hanging clothes...
awkward silences...
hanging more clothes...
drunken lounge singing: creep suspenders guy: off key japanese lyrics: cherry vodka colins...
hangers and putting clothes on them...
heaven and snowman chapstick...
Alright, I'm ready now.

9:22am: Ballad of the Pigeon Man
So I'm in Salem and there's this guy that lives by my house that owns hundreds of pigeons and apparently while I've been gone (and I'm assuming this took place either through genetic mutation or mid-life crisis and I'm assuming these are the only two ways this could have happened) one of them turned into a rooster.   A cock, even. But it's 9:22 in the morning and this fucker won't shut up. And since I just woke up, I'm not sure if he's been going since dawn or if he was hung over, missed his cue, and is desperately trying to make up for it. (I'm assuming that's the only way that could have happened too, through drunkeness. .. or too much pigeon lovin'.)
Have I ever talked about the pigeon man?
He's very loud.
He can take his indian corn colored teeth out one at a time.
The signals on our walk-around-phone mix and mingle with his and you're always able to learn about the latest family member to either escape or enter federal prison.
He chases Mormons and Jehovah Witnesses off his porch with a broom, a novelty sized blow up crucifix, and a bullhorn in which he proclaims shakily memorized old testament passages.
And he peaks at me from behind the mail boxes.

But that's all I remember about that.

9:33pm: Tumbling
beep. beep. beep. beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

*fizzle*

to be continued...

1:49am: My head is swimming and the hour is late... a dangerous time to be speaking thoughts out loud.
I'm, as of lately, not quite sure really what to, well, do with myself.
1. Dreams and aspirations are non-existent.
2. Relationships are awkward and often times cold.
3. The world is getting darker. Gray to dark gray, to really dark gray, to a deep graphite not quite black gray, to a charcoal pretty damn close but not quite black gray, to black, to really f-ing black, to black like my soul, to black like my coffee, to black to my REBELLIOUS but EVER SO TRENDY industrial steel-toed COMBAT BOOTS!
4. I'm still technically a teenager so I have the right to be overdramatical and undergrammatical.
5. In all seriousness I am awfully confused right now.
6. I'm also awfully tired.
7. And I'm also pretty sure that I promised myself I wouldn't unnecessarily list things.
8. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did.

9. I wonder what I did to make you shutdown?

10. Goodnight, moon.

10:01am: Deafanddumbanddone.
There comes a time when one must question the overall worth of a relationship. Why can't things be easy? Or why can't they at least be hard? Moments are so quiet and awkward, that I'm left wondering if my presence is desired or rather despised. I find myself staring, waiting for the possible arch of an eyebrow or the curl of a lip, something to give the other person away. But instead I get straight-faced small talk and a reminder that I remain the equivalent to (what I can only seem to compare)to that of a runner-up's prize. Not as good as first place, something you seemingly don't need but choose to keep around in case you need to prove that you have it.
What ever happened to johnhughesmoviehandsinthebackpocketsofeachothersacidwashedjeans kind of love?
It shouldn't necessarily be easy but it should always be worth it.

11:26pm: LONG LIVE THE TEAL THUNDER! (flash of lightning)
"Things I've Discovered Since My Last Entry"
1. I hate coyotes, I want to f-ing kill them all, and their moms.
2. Never trust a boy if the word 'mint' follows his name.
3. Spree is the best thing ever.
4. Elvis never in fact left the building.
5. Teal is good.
6. No, not in love, but rather in wuv.
7. Never ever make lists.

The End.